People always say you have a choice.

That you can choose what happens.

If you don’t like the song,

change the CD.

If you don’t like a person,

stop talking to them, walk away.

If you don’t like a dish,

order another.

If you don’t like what you’re reading,

close the book, pick a new one.

The possibilities are endless,

but how do I explain?

My record player,

it’s broken, it’s stuck.

As for friends,

I have no other to talk to.

I just can’t afford,

another plate.

All the books I pick up,

they’re the same.

Do you see now?

I can’t choose.

I see everyone else choosing,

letting go.

They think I’m crazy

or that I love routine.

I wish they’d see.

I wish they’d help,

instead of yelling at me

to choose.


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